"Even if I tried for a lifetime," I said slowly, "I don't think I could ever catch up to Chloe. Right, Dad?"
His smile vanished. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means."
I shoved the transcript into his chest.
"My score was forty-eight points higher than hers. So why did she get hired and not me?" My voice cracked. "And that note—'never be hired'—that's your handwriting. You knew my dream was to work here. To stand beside you. Why would you do this?"
"Nonsense!" He snatched the paper and crushed it into a ball, hurling it into the nearest trash can. Then he grabbed my arm and started pushing me toward the exit. "Go home. Stop making a scene."
"No."
I wrenched free and dove for the trash can, digging out the crumpled transcript.
"You're going to explain this. Today. Or I swear I won't let this go."
"Professor Gilbert..."
Chloe Dawson shuffled forward and grabbed his forearm, shaking it back and forth. Her voice dripped with theatrical anguish.
"How about I give Alice the hospital slot this year? It's fine if I retake the exam next year. My mom will definitely hold on until she sees me get in..."
"Give it? The nerve! That slot was mine to begin with!"